


Small Mercies

by ClutchHedonist



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Jared just needs to be needed, Jared's desperate codependency, M/M, Power Dynamics, Power Exchange, to be fair the Richard-gremlin thrives best with a bit of enabling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 06:43:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12525380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClutchHedonist/pseuds/ClutchHedonist
Summary: “We could-” It’s too late, now, and Jared is teetering over the precipice, “-There are certain benefits to practices in which power is given and taken willingly.” He weaves, clipping away the context of his previous experiences for, ostensibly, brevity of explanation, “You could- perhaps you could tell me certain things to do. Small things. I’ve always found that similar exercises have encouraged an increased sense of agency in the commanding participant.”





	Small Mercies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [joycecarolnotes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/joycecarolnotes/gifts).



> The incomparable @joycecarolnotes bid on my piece for Fandom Loves Puerto Rico, and I am SO HYPE, because the prompt was magnificent fun to fill.

“With wha- sorry, who?” Richard stammers, brows knitted.

“James Ottman, with OSHA.” The short, squat man at the door repeats, “The Occupational-” 

“- _Safety and Health Administration_.” Jared breathes from his station in the living room, going pin-stiff.

“Uh. Okay?” Richard’s lip purse, “Can we- is there something you want, or-?” He glances back over his shoulder as Jared sweeps, a wave of long limbs and wide eyes, into the kitchen.

The man produces a wallet from his breast pocket and flips open the card flap. Inside is a small, laminated card that notes him as an inspector.

Richard swallows, “...Oh.”

There is a rattle from the kitchen, a particularly invective hiss of “ _Shucks_!”.

“...Come on in.”

 

***

 

Somewhere near the founding of Pied Piper, Richard had realized that the carpet in his room wasn’t completely one type of blue. On closer inspection, it’s made up of all sorts of flecks and hues, white and sky blue and dark blue all blending into a uniform color when viewed from standing height. But this close to it, with his cheek pressed down against it, he can see the microcosm of colors that compose it.

“Well, on the plus side, there were no violations classified as willful.” Jared notes, cross-legged on the floor across from Richard’s inert body, as he shuffles through a stack of papers, “In fact, most of them fall under the ‘other-than-serious’ heading.” 

“We’re going to be fucking broke.” Richard groans. 

Jared bites his lip, “The fines do affect our burn rate considerably.” He admits after a moment. 

Richard winces, “I can’t believe we- _posters?_ They’re citing us about _posters_ in our fucking _house_?”

“By classifying Erlich’s carpal tunnel as a workplace-related injury, they do have the right to recommend hazard communication.” Jared offers gently.

“He doesn’t even work here!” Richard exclaims, “He just fucking pounds Fage and grandstands to tech bloggers.”

“Technically, he-”

“This is fucking ridiculous” Richard grates into the carpet, “This stupid- this minutiae is _insane,_ I- we don’t have time for this, Jared.”

Jared scans down over the list of citations, lips tightening, “I should be able to correct most of the violations myself before the compliance inspections.” He notes. Sometimes, the hazy, enveloping warmth that comes with lack of sleep can even become its own reward for diligence.

Richard jerks up, eyes widening, “They’re coming back?!”

“To determine that all citations have been attended to.” Jared tells him with a grimaced smile.

With a groan, Richard thuds back to the floor. Jared watches him, limp and exhausted in his tattered hoodie, fights back the urge to take him into his arms, to smooth his brow with his fingertips.

“The fines won’t stand if we manage to make all of the corrections.” He says softly.

“Our servers siphon power from the washer-dryer hookup.” Richard intones, “We’re fucked.”

“I-” Jared opens his mouth, closes it once more. 

“God, there’s- every fucking minute, there’s something else that’s going to ruin us.” Richard growls, “I just want - can’t anything go the way it- the way I fucking say it should?”

“Well, you’ve got me.” Jared offers meekly after a moment.

“Right, because one guy who knows anything about business is - because you can rewire a house.” Richard sighs.

“No, I-” Jared blushes, “To... go how you say I should.”

Richard glances up at him, heaves a sigh, “Right. Thanks.”

 

***

 

When Jared finds him that night, he’s curled into himself on one of the yellowing patio lounge chairs, eyes unfocused, almost ghostly in the shuddering blue-white reflection of the pool. He counts four empties on the rusted side table beside him, amongst a scattering of candy bar wrappers. He’ll make sure the bathroom floor is warmed once he’s finished checking on him.

“Richard?” He murmurs.

“I- Jesus.” Richard exhales, barely looking at him, “Yeah, Jared?”

“I ordered the posters. Outlined emergency action and fire prevention plans.” He tells him, voice delicate as spun glass, “And-” He lifts his soaked, mud smeared forearms with a small smile, “-no more pesky sprinkler system to monitor in the front yard!” 

“Yeah, that’s-...thanks.” Richard sighs. 

Jared’s brows knit, and he perches at the edge of the opposite lounge chair, “Richard?” 

Richard glances over to him, frowns, “Yeah?” 

Jared can feel something straining in his chest, like an invisible hand wrapped around his ribs, yanking him bodily towards him, to his- to his feet, if he needs it, anything, anything to _fix it_ , “I-” 

“Listen, Jared.” Richard huffs, “I can’t- there’s just fucking - fucking _nothing_ I can do right and. I don’t know how to. How to keep anything on track. So please, don’t tell me that I- that I’m some kind of special, magical - _whatever_ who’s going to just. I don’t know. Get all of this shit straightened out no problem, okay? Because I can’t. I can’t.” 

“Oh, Richard.” Jared has to grip his knee to keep from reaching over for his, “Richard, you don’t have to fix every bit of this. You can share the load. We can all help.”

“Great, because I’m pretty sure the sun would explode if I ever got anything under control myself.” Richard huffs scornfully. 

“Is that it? You feel out of control?” Jared tries, cocking his head and leaning in a hair’s breadth as his fingertips come together. 

Richard snorts, “This entire thing is like. Like an endless for loop.” He spits, “ ‘Richard is a fucking idiot’ plus one ad infinitum.” 

“I could-” Jared begins, then swallows, “...Maybe you just need to get your bearings. Get on your best foot. Then you’ll feel more like yourself again.” Even just forming in his mind, the suggestion is already traitorously personal, and he nearly recoils, as if it’s a tangible thing coalescing in the air between them. 

“Right, and how am I supposed to do that?” Richard sniffs.

“We could-” It’s too late, now, and Jared is teetering over the precipice, “-There are certain benefits to practices in which power is given and taken willingly.” He weaves, clipping away the context of his previous experiences for, ostensibly, brevity of explanation, “You could- perhaps you could tell me certain things to do. Small things. I’ve always found that similar exercises have encouraged an increased sense of agency in the commanding participant.”

Something in his stomach is sour, squalling at him that this is _selfish, selfish_ , that asking anything of Richard, especially that he pay further attention to him, is an unacceptable transgression. Still, the thrill of it, the idea that Richard could - could find a use for him, could actually benefit from it, is enough to keep him forging tremulously forward. 

“Like... what things?” Richard finally looks to him, lips working around his confusion, “I tell you to do things all the time.”

“And while I appreciate it immensely, I think that engaging with more acute awareness might help you recognize your personal strength.” Jared tries, “You could, for instance, suggest that I sit or stand a certain way. That I keep my thumb and forefinger together while speaking, or keep my elbow at a specific location on the desk for a prescribed period of time.”

“So, what, you follow my orders to make me feel better?” Richard asks, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

“To make you recognize that you’re already very capable of leadership and responsibility.” Jared smiles brightly.

Richard rolls his eyes, “Right.”

“You might think about giving it a try sometime.” Jared shrugs, “You might like it.”

“Sure. Whatever. I’ll- I’ll consider it in my options.” Richard sighs.

 

***

 

Richard craves coffee in the morning after he’s thrown up, he _always_ craves it and he shouldn’t have it. Jared has told him before that he should focus on rehydrating himself, has tried to encourage him to drink water. Had spent the larger part of the evening holding Richard’s curls back off his forehead as he’d whined and shuddered over the toilet between careful nibbles of ice.

“Did you make coffee?” Richard groans as he shuffles into the kitchen.

“Fresh and piping.” Jared tells him as he leans up from the counter.

“Oh, thank god.” Richard huffs as he falls into one of the chairs.

Jared sets to fixing two mugs, one with two creams, the other black with sugar, then hands Richard the lighter of the two, “You might be better off with a glass of water.” He tells him as he extends his arm.

Richard merely grumbles, wrapping his fingers around the mug and inhaling deeply. Jared watches him, hair sleep-tousled, skin pale, cheeks still blotchy with sleep. Warm and sharp and unraveled. Jared’s grip tightens faintly on the handle of his mug.

“Do you need anything to eat?” He asks.

“I think I might pu-” Richard glances up at him, then cringes, throws a hand up over his eyes to blot out the morning sun streaming in behind him, “Ugh, Jesus." 

“Oh, I-” Jared glances over his shoulder, then steps into the beam.

“C’you-...a little to the left?” Richard asks. 

Jared nods, obeys immediately, and Richard lets out a sigh of relief. Jared allows himself a small, private smile. 

“...You’re doing it.” He tells him gently.

“Hnnh? Doing what?” Richard squints up at him. 

Jared extends both arms, gives a pleased shrug, “Here I am. See?” 

“You-...oh.” Richard jerks a tiny nod. 

“Do you feel more resolute?”

“Do I- Jesus, Jared.” Richard groans, scrubs at his eyes with the balls of his hands, “Jesus, did you have to fucking remind me?”

Jared feels his chest drop, nearly loses his grip on his coffee, “Oh, I- Richard, I’m so sorry, I-” 

“No, y’know what? Stand there.” Richard grunts.

“...You-”

“Just- don’t talk.”

Jared falls silent.

Richard frowns down into his coffee, smears a hand back through his hair. Jared remains motionless as the murmur of his heartbeat grows into a dull roar in his ears. After nearly a minute, Richard glances back up at him.

“Are you just gonna’-?” Jared makes a questioning motion towards his mouth, and Richard blinks, “Uh, yeah, sorry, you can talk? I guess?”

“Am I going to stay here?” Jared offers, “You told me to, right? See? It’s easy.”

Richard watches him for a long moment, lowering his mug onto the table. His mouth works around the words, eyelids fluttering in brief contemplation, before he speaks again, “...Sit down.”

Jared obeys, folding down instantly onto the floor, knees jutting up against his chest. He lets his gaze hold Richard’s for a few silent seconds, and then, half-breathless,  “...Do you like it?”

“It’s kind of- it’s kinda’ nice.” Richard admits, then lets out a tight, surprised laugh, “Yeah, it’s nice.”

Jared smiles broadly from his place on the ground, “I knew you could do it, Richard.”

“Y’know what?” Richard tells him, straightening in his chair, “You can- you can just. Just sit there. Until I’m done. Until I’m- until I’m ready.”

Jared salutes, “Aye-aye.”

He sees Richard smirk faintly over his mug, that self-pleased twitch of his lips that _undoes_ him, viscerally, somewhere in his belly. His shoulders give a little jerk, and he rolls them back to lean against the back of the chair. Jared can almost imagine him tasting it, the tiny bud of command taking root in Richard’s senses, fresh and heady, and Jared’s lips quaver into a frail smile.

“What the fuck is happening here?” Gilfoyle asks when he pads in several minutes later in his robe.

“Team-building.” Jared answers without hesitation, gaze still on Richard.

Richard shrugs.

“Sure.” Gilfoyle looks between them doubtfully.

Jared remains on the floor as he prepares a bowl of cereal, pours himself a mug of coffee from the machine. Gilfoyle spares them another glance as he makes to leave.

“...Enjoy.”

Richard stutters out a tiny laugh as he makes his way back down the hall.

When Jared takes a shower, he’s forbidden to open his left hand. As Richard outlines their new mandatory alternate egress plan - the plan that _he_ drew up - in the living room, Jared is told to hold the tips of his fingers together for every word. Richard breezes through the instructions, tells Dinesh that he can, and Jared’s cheeks color at this, _fuck himself sideways_ if he doesn’t like sitting through it, that this is an _actual company_ and this is the way it _works._  

By the time they’ve gotten through the briefing and are making their way to their stations, Richard puts his fingertips in the small of Jared’s back, _touches_ him, to keep him behind for a moment, murmurs, “Left foot always in the- the same place. On the floor.”, and then he’s passing by.

Jared lets one set of fingertips flutter up to touch his chest, tightens his lips to keep in a pleased sigh. When he sinks down into his desk chair, he anchors himself there, sees Richard watch him do it and feels his pulse thrill.

 

***

 

For the next week, he’s never without a command of some sort. Even when he sleeps, Richard is there, telling him what sort of pajamas to wear, ordering him to sleep- to sleep on the _floor_ like an _animal,_ and as his eyes flutter shut as he lays on the garage pavement, he smiles at the thought of himself as a faithful mutt, the force of his loyalty shining bright, blotting out any signs of his ill breeding.

He’s just finished toweling off his hair, has wriggled into a fresh white t-shirt and blue flannel pajama pants, still warm from the dryer when there’s a knock on the bathroom door.

“It’s me.” He hears Richard murmur.

He folds his towel quickly, hangs it on the rack before pulling back the door, “Richard?” There’s something that he’s been agonizing over, he knows it right away. Richard never pinches his lips like this unless something is wrong, “What is it?” He asks.

“I-” And then Richard is crowding him back against the sink counter, pushing the door shut with one jerk of a skinny arm, “Y-You should- you should- put your hands behind you. On the counter.”

“R-Richard?” Jared feels his breath begin to evanesce entirely, “You-”

“Put them. Behind you.” Richard orders, “And- and don’t move.”

Jared stills, eyes wide, locked with Richard’s. His long hands scrabble back to the edge of the counter, and he wraps his fingers around it. Richard is frowning, _doubting,_ Jared knows, and looking over him like he’s. Like he’s considering him, and Jared feels a giddy, impossible prickle in his stomach. He exhales slowly, measures it out for fear of fainting otherwise.

“Do you...want me to-...what can I do for you, Richard?”

Richard’s hands are at the hem of his t-shirt, not touching,but hovering just above Jared’s hips, fingers twitching. Jared shivers, inches his body forward, and Richard snatches them away.

“Jesus, Jared, I-” Richard slumps back against the opposite wall, “Fuck. Sorry, I’m sorry, I. Got caught up in thinking and- and I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m- I’m sorry, I’m such a fuck up.”

“Oh, Richard, no.” Jared breathes, “No, no. You’ve been- you’re doing magnificently.” He tells him, “Please, you can-”

Richard glances up at him, swallows.

“Please.” Jared begs quietly.

And then Richard is like a current, like a gale force hurricane of chapped lips and bitten fingernails, devouring Jared’s mouth like it’s _sustenance_ , and Jared shudders achingly at the thought of Richard ravaging him to bolster his strength, _living_ on him. He surges up against him, offering himself, every bit of it, hands riveted to the counter.

“Oh, oh, _oh_ -” He’s whimpering against Richard’s mouth.

“Come- come to my room.” Richard pants as he drags himself back, “In a second. Just. wait a minute. And then come in.”

Jared nods, and then Richard is gone. He counts to precisely sixty before lifting his hands and following. The hallway between the bathroom and Richard’s room is long dark, and Jared pads through it in tight silence despite his already-shaking legs. The door to Richard’s room is shut, and Jared cracks it only a few inches to wind his body through the gap before shutting it again.

Richard is perched in his desk chair beneath the loft bed, hands tight in his lap, and his gaze snaps up to Jared as he enters. Jared sees his mouth thin, determined.

“Put your-...your hands behind your back.” Richard orders.

Jared nods, grips one wrist behind his back instinctively, fleetingly wonders if Richard would ever be interested in learning how to tie a box knot. Richard is rising, then, hands fisted beneath the tattered, overlong cuffs of his hoodie. Jared feels his nerves electrified as Richard breaches into the space between them, as he feels his warmth, and then Richard’s hands are on him. He’s rucking Jared’s shirt up, feeling over the dip of his hip bones, and Jared stutters for air.

“You-” Richard begins, and then gives up, crushing his mouth to Jared’s once more.

His hands settle on his hips, squeeze tight before beginning to rove up over his stomach, the slope of his chest. Jared’s nails sink into his wrist as he watches the faint outline of his nipples budding up beneath his shirt in response to Richard’s fingers, so...oh gosh, so _obscene_ and _sluttish_ that he can’t help but whine behind pursed lips.

“You- you like that?” Richard glances up, watches his face as he runs the pad of his thumb over one nipple.

Jared’s hips jerk, and the color rises in his cheeks, “Oh, Richard, I’m sorry, I-I’m-” _I’m filthy, I’m unthinkable, I’m a debauched, selfish sham,_ “I’m afraid I can’t-” He lets out a tiny gasp as Richard pinches the sensitive flesh between two fingers, “-can’t help it.”

“You want me to -to  _control_ you, huh?” Richard’s voice is a growl that sets the small hairs at the back of Jared’s neck standing, “Make you. Do stuff?”

Jared groans aloud, “Oh, Richard, I would crawl on my belly through hell for you.”

“Fuck.” Richard hisses, “Tilt your. Tilt your head up.”

Jared complies immediately, and in an instant, Richard’s teeth are in the hollow of his throat. Jared imagines the bruises, purple and stark against his complexion, imagines the blood rising to the surface as Richard sucks a mark into his skin, then another and another.

“Oh, shit-” Richard gasps as he pulls back from the third to examine his work, “Jared, I, uh- I didn’t mean to-”

“Are they dark?” Jared shivers.

“Y-Yeah, kinda.”

Jared’s chest jerks, and he feels dampness begin to gather in his lashes, “Thank you.” His voice is tight, “Oh, Richard, I hardly deserve to be...to be marked this way, to have a symbol that you would ever even _consider_ me, I-”

“I- Consider you?”

Jared draws in a minute gasp, “Oh my goodness, not that I’m implying that you- that there is _any_ obligation whatsoever to do-...to do anything at all, Richard.”

Richard lets out a frustrated huff, “Jesus Christ, Jared, I-” He seizes him by the hips once more, “I fucking. _want you._ So just- just _let me have you_.”

“Oh.” His voice is very small, very far away, and Jared has to zero in on the scent of Richard’s hair, warm and dusky, to bring him back to himself, “ _Oh_. Yes. Yes, Richard.' 

“Now get on the floor.” Richard orders.

Jared does.

Somewhere between the moment that Richard’s thumbnails begin to bite crescents into his hips and the time that he realizes that this rugburn is going to need salve, he feels himself beginning to float. But it isn’t the way that it usually is, disconnected from his body, disappearing more and more with each passing second. He is distinctly, decidedly _there,_ there beneath Richard - _Richard!_ \- with his legs wrapped around his skinny waist and one palm locked to the floor in the prescribed spot. There as Richard groans into his skin, kisses away the droplet of sweat that pools between his collarbones.

Incandescently there as Richard finds his climax within his body, his own real, warm, desperate body, and as the feeling of it pushes him over the edge as well, the act of it less traitorous than he ever imagined that it could be. There, panting and shaking, as Richard pushes his fingers back through his hair, whispers _Jesus_ and _Fuck, Jared_ and _God, you’re incredible_ and Jared has to hide his face in his shoulder. There, holding Richard, limbs entangled, as they drift towards sleep, Jared’s hand never budging on the carpet.

 


End file.
